


2020

by musiclover57



Series: Endings and Beginnings [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: "Captain Merlin", (sort of), Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Apocalypse, Apologies in advance: I have no idea what I'm talking about when it comes to science and medicine, Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Awkwardness, Blood samples, Bonding over books, Denial, Denial of Feelings, Gen, Hostage Situations, Kidnapping, Kind of me just projecting my own awkwardness onto the characters, M/M, Magic genocide, Mentioned Pregnancy, OOC characters, Reincarnation, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Talk of genocide, The Lord of the Rings References, This is just getting weirder and weirder, magic kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:28:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 13,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22411786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiclover57/pseuds/musiclover57
Summary: The year was still 2020. The world had ended shockingly fast. Merlin could imagine asking people who had never lived to see the world as it once was: "Can you imagine it? All that you’ve come to known, all that you’ve struggled to live with, all of it — snatched away in an instant? In mere months? Can you imagine it? The world wiped clean?"And if some part of Merlin still hoped that he wouldn’t live long enough to be able to say that, well, he kept that buried deep.
Relationships: Gwaine & Percival (Merlin), Gwaine/Percival (Merlin) (background), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Endings and Beginnings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756285
Comments: 26
Kudos: 84





	1. Counting Years

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. 
> 
> Warning: suicidal thoughts and plans of suicide. Merlin is ready to kill himself and gets materials to do so, though he does not actually attempt suicide. Please don't read if this will bother you.

The year was 2020. Anyone 19 and under was talking about the turn of the decade. People older, who had seen the turn of the century, pretended to be unfazed. But regardless of age, there was an aura all around of possibility, of wonder. The new year tended to have that effect on people. Sure, people got drunk on New Year’s Eve and partied until the New Year, but the real impact of the turn of the new year was that foolish idea that things would be different. That the terrible world that existed on December 31 would be left behind, and the new world of January 1 would be better. 

Merlin no longer had such expectations. It had been nearly all those 2,020 years since the worst day of his life, and the memories had not faded in the least, even if anyone who was alive then was now dead. Everyone except him. And even though the dragon himself was long dead, his words echoed endlessly in Merlin’s mind, as they ever had:

_“Take heart…for when Albion’s need is greatest, Arthur will rise again.”_

Albion was gone. Albion was dead. Arthur was dead. Guinevere was dead. Gwaine was dead. Percival was dead. Gaius was dead. Even Leon was dead, and he’d lived through hell multiple times. It was funny, how you could convince yourself of impossible things, things like that Leon wouldn’t die with the rest. 

Merlin was still alive, though some days, he didn’t feel like it. He wondered what he had done to deserve such torture. 2,020 years, give or take, and he was still waiting for something he knew would never come. 

_“Take heart…”_

The year was 2020, and Merlin was done counting years. Had been for a while, maybe, but perhaps the turn of the decade had had an effect on him, too. He had finally realized that no, January 1 would not be any different. Merlin really should have figured it out by now. Arthur wasn’t coming back. This was only right. 

It was unnatural, he reasoned, for someone to have lived this long. By all accounts he should be dead. It was only natural to take matters into his own hands. 

Merlin looked around at his flat. Most times the walls felt as natural as the sky around him, after so longer there. He’d painted those walls a dozen times. He’d cursed them for being too thin a dozen times. He’s banged on them, utterly frustrated with the hand the world had dealt him, a dozen times. His knuckles had cracked open on them and blood had smeared down the wall. A dozen times. 

Today, though, the walls were strangers. He was no longer welcome in their embrace. His time had run short. He’d lived so long, but the prospect of dying had never stopped scaring him. He’d never forgotten the glazed look in Arthur’s eyes when he—

He’d lived so long, but he could never even think those words. Never. 

Shuddering, Merlin left his coat behind as he stepped through the door. He didn’t lock it, either. He left it all behind, and wondered how he was going to end his life. 

He went through the possibilities like someone might look through produce, and decided he would buy a gun. He knew where a gun shop was, didn’t really have to look for it, but he wandered around a bit anyway. He said good-by to the streets and the buildings and the world. He said farewell to life, and then walked into the shop. 

It didn’t take as long as he would have expected, but it still look too long for his liking. His hands were sweating and his skin felt all wrong, too tight for his bones, when he finally got out of there. 

The security was a little to lax for comfort, but Merlin supposed things like that were no longer his problem. 

_“For when Albion’s need is greatest…”_

Next, Merlin wondered where he was going to do it. He didn’t want to traumatize some poor kid by making them discover his body. He should probably do it in his house. 

Yet Merlin thought that perhaps he should do something first, a way to say good-by to the experiences of life and not just the places. He went to a library, of all places, and wandered aimlessly among the book shelves. 

Merlin was looking at the books, not where he was going, which explains why he —

“Sorry!” Merlin said. It came across as not very genuine, but when he noticed that the person he had bumped into (run into, really) had dropped their books, he helped them pick them up. The person had short blond hair, he saw, a bit like Arthur’s. A bit. 

“Thanks,” the person said, looking up at Merlin with a charming smile. And oh, of all things, of all times—

“Arthur?” Merlin squeaked. Yes, he thought, that was him. A little bit scrawnier, sure, and maybe younger, but definitely, without a single solitary doubt, Arthur. Merlin would never forget _Arthur_. 

“Sorry,” Arthur said. “Do I know you?”

But perhaps Arthur would forget Merlin. Thinking fast, Merlin realized that Arthur had probably not _risen again_ , literally, but had been _born again_. He clearly didn’t remember Merlin. And Merlin didn’t know him enough to have any reason why he should — why Merlin knew his name and Arthur didn’t know Merlin’s. 

“Sorry,” Merlin repeated, because there were already too many apologies in this conversation and what was another one. “You just look like someone—someone I used to know.”

“I get that a lot,” Arthur replied, though Merlin could not tell if he was joking or not. “My name _is_ Arthur, though, so you seem to be at the advantage.”

“Adv—oh!” Merlin laughed. It came out very strange sounding. “I’m Mark. My name’s Mark.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mark,” Arthur said, laughing also. “Were you looking at Charles Dickens’s books?”

Merlin looked up. He was, in fact, looking at Dickens’s books. “Yes.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“I haven’t read any, yet.” Merlin squirmed under the weight of his lie but was utterly still. He was a very good liar, by now. Even better in 2020. 2,020 years of lying. Longer. 

“Oh, really? They’re great.”

“Any recommendations?” Merlin asked, smiling a little. First time in a long time. 

Arthur pulled _A Tale of Two Cities_ off the shelf. “Love and sacrifice,” he said. “What’s not to like?”

Merlin swallowed. “Thanks.” 

He was looking at the book, which is why he didn’t notice that Arthur had a library receipt and was writing something down until he handed it to Merlin. It was a phone number.

Arthur winked. “Let me know if you like it.”

_“Arthur will rise again.”_


	2. The Middle Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing.
> 
> Reminder that Mark is the name Merlin gave Arthur.

The year was 2020. For Arthur, things were starting to look up. He finally had a purpose. A mission. He’d gotten an internship at ConZ, the company that was going to bring about the end of the world, and he was a key part in the group trying to take them down. 

“Put this in their computer,” Gabriel said, “and we’ll have eyes and ears even when you’re not there.”

Gabriel was his middle name. His first name was, he felt, too embarrassing to go by. Only Arthur, a childhood friend/grudging acquaintance, knew what it was. And yes, it was pretty bad. I mean, who names their child Gwaine?

Arthur was skeptical about the flash drive Gabriel was referring to, as it seemed like a bad clique, but he knew better than to question Gabriel’s technological expertise. It usually ended in a headache for all parties involved or even slightly near to the resulting lecture. Anyway, if it didn’t work, that was on Gabriel. He’d been trying to minimize Arthur’s importance to the group from the beginning, and Arthur figured he’d let him try. 

See if they need Arthur when they get back “sciency jibberish,” as Gabriel liked to call it, from the spyware. 

Arthur’s phone buzzed. Figuring it was Morgana giving him an update (she was in medical school, and sometimes she sent pictures of her notes to Arthur to prove to him that he didn’t actually want to be a doctor. It had not yet worked), he accepted Gabriel’s flash drive without remark and stepped out.

It was not, in fact, Morgana.

_(Unknown number)_

_Is this book actually supposed to be good?_

A moment later another text came through. 

_(Unknown number)_

_This is Mark._

Arthur smiled and added the contact. 

( _Arthur)_

_That’s the general idea. How far did you get?_

_(Mark)_

_To Sydney’s stupid love confession scene._

_(Arthur)_

_That’s further than most people get. That’s also the part where people tend to stop thinking it’s bad._

_(Mark)_

_It glorifies death and pining. I don’t approve._

_(Arthur)_

_That’s unnecessarily judgmental, but fair._

_(Arthur)_

_Still, you didn’t think it was stupid before that?_

_(Mark)_

_It did, this just solidified it._

_(Mark)_

_I feel a responsibility to recommend you a better book._

_(Arthur)_

_I’d like to see you try._

_(Mark)  
You’re on. Library at 6:00?_

_(Arthur)_

_7:00?_

_(Mark)_

_Scared, Potter?_

_(Arthur)_

_You wish._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ConZ is just a product of my bad naming skills. It's not actually meant to reflect anything real. 
> 
> Yes, there will be a plot eventually. 
> 
> For the record, A Tale of Two Cities is a great book. But yes, it glorifies death and pining.


	3. Well, That Escalated Quickly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place a few months after the last one.

The year was still 2020. The world had ended shockingly fast. Merlin could imagine, when he got still older (for now the thought of life eternal did not give him so much grief, and he was capable of thinking more than a few months into the future), asking people who had never lived to see the world as it once was: _Can you imagine it? All that you’ve come to known, all that you’ve struggled to live with, all of it — snatched away in an instant? In mere months? Can you imagine it? The world wiped clean?_

And if some part of Merlin still hoped that he wouldn’t live long enough to be able to say that, well, he kept that buried deep. No longer did he have any contact with Arthur — phones were down, and anyway, they hadn’t parted on the best terms— but that reincarnation of the prince and king he’d once loved cared for had given him hope, and that was something he could never repay. Hope was the only gift that could be given, anymore, in this world wiped clean. 

There had been massive trouble with ConZ, disturbingly obvious in retrospect, but by the time it was brought to publicity it was far too late. Merlin hadn’t seen anything like this in a long, long time. Magic didn’t help. Science didn’t help. Prayer didn’t help. 

Hope barely did. 

The disease came to be known as Z-Death, your friendly reminder that the Z in ConZ probably stood for zombies, because that’s almost what happened. 

Now, it wasn’t actually the zombie apocalypse. There was no illness causing cannibalism and partial invulnerability. It was more like rabies, but not. Merlin wasn’t a doctor, so he didn’t actually know why it wasn’t rabies for humans, but what he did know was that it turned kind, reasonable people into blood-thirsty (not literally) murders with no respect for the law. They were also too smart to be zombies. In case you’re still on the zombies thing. 

Merlin had accidentally become the leader of a small group of magic-wielders (names varied, so the term “magic-wielders” was usually used to keep the peace). Mordred — the reincarnation of Mordred, yes — had been one of the first and had started the trend of calling Merlin “Captain Merlin,” because apparently that was a thing. Worse, Mordred was young, and kinda adorable, so Merlin couldn’t properly hate him for that.

Or for the other thing. But we don’t talk about the other thing here. This is a all-denial environment. No coming to terms with one’s past here, no matter how long ago said past occurred. 

But the group had grown. Where there once were five magic-wielders and one non-magic-wielder (another term used to keep the peace), there were now almost twenty magic-users and over 10 non-magic-users. 

Safety in numbers. That was a thing, right?

“Captain,” said one of the new recruits, Vivian. The group was wandering down the street as though in a herd, trying to find food or a place to sleep (preferably, both). “That office building has a huge stock of canned chocolate pudding.”

Merlin didn’t ask how she knew this. He had long ago started making a point of not prying into anyone’s Before. 

That night, they had chocolate pudding and burned faxes and laughed like they would die tomorrow. In the Before, it would have been a dream come true for a lot of people. In the After, it was the everyday sort of miracle that came free with knowing that they very well might die tomorrow. 

Merlin didn’t have any fear of death. Not anymore. Nor did he really wish for it (if he thought it enough, maybe it’d come true). He knew death would come for him in its time and felt absolutely nothing about that certainty. 

He only founding himself wishing that he could have seen Arthur one last time.


	4. Desperation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some plotting, but the chapter count is subjected to change.

The year was 2020. Things had gone downhill pretty fast for most people, and now even Merlin’s group could no longer by the exception. They’d had their lucky breaks. They’d had their laughter and their fire. Now it was time for their desperation. 

Merlin had seen people do truly terrible things in the name of desperation. In the name of famine. In the name of having no other choice in the world. At first glance, stealing from a drug store shouldn’t even have made the top ten.   
When one took into consideration that this was the apocalypse, though, things changed. Because said drug store was absolutely overrun with the sick. And the sick were violent. Not to each other, so much, but definitely to the non-infected. To go in there was death. But to stay out was death, too: they were running out of food. They were running out of clean water. They were running out of time, though this was not something one could actually get at a drug store. 

It was decided that they would use magic to cause distractions and go undetected. Even if they were in any shape for a full out fight, killing the sick when they had a choice about it seemed kind of awful and would likely cause enough noise to alert any of the sick in their vicinity to their location. 

Then Jonathan dropped that bar of soap. Silence reigned, heartbreakingly loud. And Merlin knew. They wouldn’t all be getting out of there alive. 

The sick were smart, but not strategic. When they realized that there was a rather large group of non-infected in their midst, they just went wild. Merlin would have liked to say that he and the group kept their morals about them, but there was really only so much you could do when someone came charging at you with a knife and the intent to kill. 

They fought for their lives. Such things weren’t always valiant, but they were necessary. Even then, even with many magicians in their midst, they were not much for the hundreds of the sick. 

They were going to die. 

The sound of shattering glass came from Merlin’s left. He didn’t turn, fearing what he would see. The sick had no such trouble. They turned and screamed with human throats and inhuman roars. They charged the newcomers, and Merlin reconsidered his initial fears that the glass-breakers were more of the sick. 

The sound of gunfire rained down upon them. Blood coated the floor. Life left eyes that hadn’t held souls for a good long while. Soon, there were no more empty eyes. Soon, there only those with the guts to say they had their humanity. 

Among the newcomers who had saved their lives with a woman with dark hair and two pistols Merlin could see (though he felt oddly sure she had more secured on her person). She was Morgana. He’d recognize her anywhere.   
Merlin was so busy staring at her, in fact, that he nearly missed the only person in the crowd who had recognized him back. That person didn’t miss him, though; they came over to him with a haughty air that demanded attention. 

“Who are they, Captain?” Mordred asked. 

“I don’t know…” Merlin answered, though this was not strictly true. 

The person who recognized him said, “Hello, Captain. Nice to see you’re alright.”

Merlin looked at him with wide eyes. “Just call me Merlin,” he said on instinct before his brain had really processed who had spoken. 

“If you wanted me to call you by your name,” said Arthur Pendragon, “then you should have told it to me.”


	5. Cold

The year was 2020, but the idea of a building with a working bathroom was as bizarre to Merlin as it would have been in the year 20. That’s exactly what Merlin and his companions were heading towards, as Arthur, Morgana, and the rest of the gun-wielding people had offered to lead them back to their base. It was a disease center (where they worked to eradicate or study diseases, not, as was apparently a common mistake, where diseases came from), and what might have been the last human stronghold on the earth. 

It also had working bathrooms. In case you were wondering, that was by far the biggest thing for Merlin’s group. Because of course it was. 

The building looked much like all the others on its street. It wasn’t tall or big or anything. Well, it was tall, but this was the city. It didn’t tower over the other buildings, so by city standards it was not tall. However, the building at a second glance was odd in that the windows were all boarded up and the door was reinforced. They didn’t even have a key — they had to do a special knock, identify themselves, and then be let in. This, Morgan did. 

As the long line of people filed it, it slowly became clear to the guards that there were more people coming back than had left. One left, and the other locked the door behind the first. 

By the time the last of Merlin’s group had gotten through the door and joined the more-crammed-than-would-probably-be-legal-if-laws-still-existed room, the guard had come back and conversed with Morgana. 

“Alright,” she announced to the group, “we don’t know you, so you’ve got to take blood tests.”

This seemed reasonable to Merlin, but there were some in his group who were greatly disgruntled by it. They recalled clearly, still, that group of sketchy wizards who had wanted to take their blood and see if a difference could be found between those who had magic and those who did not. 

In the end, though, the blood tests won out. Merlin apparently had authority within his group, which for some reason still surprised him, and when he pointed out that this was a medical facility and they could probably test them for Z-Death, they agreed, grumbling, to the test. 

They lined up by a table and Arthur and a few others stood on the other side. Three at a time their blood got tested as Morgana and the rest of the glass-breaking warriors went through a green door. Of course, they were all fine. The tests were all fine. Merlin pretended that he wasn’t surprised at every nod. 

Then Arthur asked to pull Vivian to the side, and Merlin’s heart turned to ice. Her companions wanted to go with her, but when Arthur assured them they’d only be a few feet away (just out of ear-shot in the noisy room) and Vivian consented, her companions relented. Upon returning, Vivian assured them all that she was fine, but did not want to reveal what Arthur had told her about. 

Merlin was last, and Arthur was the one who took his blood. He was surprisingly gentle about it, and his hands were surprisingly cold. The rest of the group, or much of it, had been admitted into another room where they would bathe and change their clothes (for reasons regarding the nature of the place as a medical facility and as a refuge for those who were not immune), and the other two who had been taking blood samples were packing up their equipment. Arthur and Merlin were offered something like privacy. 

There were a lot of things Merlin wanted to say to Arthur, but he remembered Arthur’s parting words: _you don’t need to explain it to me_. 

Instead, Merlin asked, “What happened with Vivian’s blood?”

Arthur didn’t ask who Vivian was. They had been recording names and blood types and other “stuff,” but Vivian was also the only person Merlin could possibly be asking about. 

“If she wants to tell you, she will,” Arthur answered. 

“She won’t,” Merlin said. “She’s that kind of person. But technically, for some awful reason, I’m her leader. I should know, so I can help her.”

It sounded awful to Merlin, but perhaps Arthur understood. “She’s pregnant,” he said simply. “You should go with the rest, now. The general will want to see you as soon as possible.”

Merlin went through the green door and wondered who the general would be.


	6. The General and the Cure

“Tell me, Merlin,” said the general, Uther Pendragon. “Why should we do anything to help you and your people?”

The place was an office. It was several floors up from ground level. Seven, Merlin knew, because he had climbed those seven flights. Its windows were boarded up and the desk and room were rather underwhelming, but even in those conditions Uther Pendragon commanded a presence. He did not sit at the desk, but rather stood behind it with his hands upon the chair. Arthur, Merlin, and Morgana stood on the other side of the desk in a solemn line. 

The year was 2020. But people never really changed. 

“His people need our help,” said Morgana angrily. “What good are we to this world if we don’t offer whatever help we can to those in need of it?”

Arthur said nothing. He wasn’t looking at Uther or any of them. He looked to the window, which was boarded up sloppily. Not by wood but rather by tarp it hid the outside world, and when they (read: Morgan) had thrown open the door, it had stirred like a caged bird. 

“What good are we to this world if those we let in come to be the doom of us all?” Uther countered. “They must prove their good will.”

“And we must prove ours first.”

“I am willing,” said Merlin, without first considering his words, “to do what it takes to show you my group means no harm to yours.”

“Very good.” Uther nodded, as though he’d expected nothing else. “I will contact you with a mission. There will you prove your goodwill.”

The door opened. The other side revealed a small figure with hair in two long braids. 

“Gwen says to get Arthur,” the girl told Uther. “Where is he?”

“Arthur is right here,” said he she spoke of, speaking for the first time. “Thanks, Nimue.”

The two departed. 

“Gwen is the leader in the search for a cure,” Morgana explained. “Arthur’s an unofficial part of it.”

Uther looked like he greatly disapproved of Morgana telling Merlin this, but said nothing, merely gesturing that they should leave. 

Once outside, Merlin asked, “Why unofficial?”

“Well, he doesn’t really have an qualifications for that,” Morgana revealed. “Like, at all. But he’s pretty smart, and he caught on.”

Morgana offered to show a contemplative Merlin to the research lab, and he accepted. 

The research lab was perhaps not what Merlin would have thought it would be. It would actually have seemed to be a break room of sorts, if not for all the science equipment and all the scientists. Many wore white coats in questionable condition, and most of the rest wore lab coats of another sort, so Arthur stuck out like a soar thumb. Merlin wondered if he did this as a statement or whether it was because of his lack of “qualifications.”

Another who stuck out like a soar thumb was a boy just old enough to be called a teenager. He was shorter than any of the other scientists due to his age and was engaged in an animated conversation with one of the researchers, who was looking rather less enthusiastic. Odd also was that Merlin knew the boy. 

“Mordred?” he said. “What are you doing here?”

Arthur looked up. He’d been doing something with Guinevere, who Merlin was delighted to see but unable to express said joy to due to the whole reincarnation thing. 

Then Arthur saw Mordred, and Mordred saw Arthur. Merlin’s world turned upside down in his mind’s eye. For an instant he was almost sure they would remember everything. That things could never be anywhere close to alright again. Then Arthur smiled at Mordred, in that way that people smile at children they don’t know, and Merlin relaxed. His relief was near dizziness. 

“I don’t know,” grumbled the scientist that Mordred had been talking to. 

“I wanted to show Merlin what we do here,” said Morgana. 

“Right,” said the scientist. “Arthur, would you show Mor…dred here the…guards?”

Arthur agreed to this transparent ploy, and the two left. Merlin anxiously watched them go, and found it hard to pay attention to the fascinating explanation of how exactly they were going about their search for a cure. 

A cure.


	7. Beyond All Odds

The year was 2020, and it was well within the realm of possibility that this would be the last year humans would be around to number. So many people had died. The resources even the immune had come to rely upon were dwindling. Humanity hung on to its existence by a thread of a wish. It seemed a single snip would be all it would take to send the very last survivor tumbling into the abyss, or whatever came after death for those who did not have a destiny. 

But perhaps everyone did have a destiny, because beyond all odds, beyond any desperate calculation, humanity did hang on. They boarded themselves away behind walls and up to the sky and they learned and they watched and they waited. It seemed that all within this fortress were destined for great things. Anything else would mean that none of it had ever had any significance, or significance in a way they could see, and that, all refused to believe. No, they would find a cure or die trying. 

And many did die, even within this group. Because those mentioned resources really were in desperately short supply. Nearly weekly did they have to go out and hunt for food. They did not hunt as humans once had, with bows or knives or guns. They hunted with their eyes and their speed and their cunning. They hunted in the streets of a deserted city and they hunted in those places where food had once been plenty, plenty as a river is plenty with water. 

The general had sent out once such hunting party yesterday, but they had only returned with more mouths to feed and more bodies to cloth. It seemed only fitting, Uther thought, that when he sent out another party today, he sent with it the leader of the new group in humanity’s last stronghold. His name was Merlin. Uther did not know if he had a last name. Most people did not, in this world wiped clean. 

Merlin walked alongside Arthur, and the two were silent. Not just because of the awkwardness between them, given their parting before all this happened, but also due to necessity: the scavenging group wanted to go unnoticed. Conversely, they had decided to return to the same place they went to yesterday, where they found Merlin and his group. 

Once there, Merlin had to acknowledge within his own mind that it was starting to look like a better plan than he’d initially thought it to be. In the fight yesterday, they’d killed nearly all of the sick that were there, and it seemed like none others had come by. Merlin would admit that he’d hated the plan instantly mostly because it came from Uther. 

Gabriel, another welcome sight because he was actually Gwaine (though Merlin couldn’t blame someone for not wanting to name their child Gwaine, destiny or no), instructed the small group to start collecting necessities. They had all been given sizable backpacks, as these would be easier to run with, if need called for it, and easier to be quiet with, so that need did not. 

Deserted or no, Merlin stayed close to Arthur. Merlin was trying to be subtle, but the looks Arthur kept throwing at him told him he was not very successful. 

It soon became justified in a stunning display of circular reasoning, however, because as Arthur was occupied giving Merlin one of these aforementioned sideways glances, one of the sick (who were known to many as zombies by this point, but Merlin resisted the urge to use this label) lunged from another aisle and knocked Arthur down. She had a knife. 

Merlin didn’t even think. He didn’t think about how this world had forgotten about magic, and he didn’t think about how Arthur had feared magic in his past life. Had feared Merlin for it, for a dreadful few hours. His eyes turned gold (as he had later been told by Guinevere that they did) and he gestured with a hand, and the infected person was knocked against an aisle. 

This had the unforeseen consequence of knocking down said aisle. Merlin was only grateful that this did not, as it would in a cartoon, cause a domino-like effect. Still, the sound was horrendous. 

Worse, perhaps, was that there was no way Arthur had not seen what he had done. 

“What the heck happened in there?” Gabriel asked Arthur, only he didn’t say “heck.”

“It was me,” said Merlin. Perhaps it was the memory of Gwaine, but he never even considered lying. “One of the infected came out of nowhere and in the fight, the aisle just sort of…”

Well, he lied about the magic. But that was nothing, at this point. Lying had long been his life. Now he was lying more than ever. Merlin just tried not to think about it. 

Gabriel and the others said nothing else during the journey back. This journey was faster than the way there, as they had to run away (after this brief interaction) before the sick came upon them at the sound of this noise. 

When they returned to the camp, and were let in by the guards with that strange knock Merlin for some reason could still not remember, Gwaine led them right to the general. He told them everything that happened, exactly as it had happened. Somehow Merlin had thought he wouldn’t. 

Morgana, who had been there when they had come in and had stayed, said at the end, “I refuse to believe such a scrawny person could knock down an aisle.”

“If he says he did,” said Uther, “then he either did and is foolish or did not and is a liar. Either way, Merlin has not proven that he is trustworthy. I’m afraid that places us in an uncomfortable position. They can’t stay.”

“But—General!” Merlin blurted. “Surely this only speaks to my own character, and not those of my companions.”

“You said you would act for my opinion of your group,” Uther recalled. “And in your attempt to spare them from trial, you have condemned them to the judgement of your actions alone. You were doing just fine before. I’m sure you will do just fine now, too.”

“They were not doing just fine before! They were in a fight for their lives when we found them!” Morgana pointed out. Merlin had forgotten, what she had once been like. Before destiny, and he, had turned her dreams into nightmares and her kindness into cruelty. He said nothing, caught utterly humble by her defense of him after all the things she did not recall. 

“We all fight for our lives,” said Uther. 

Merlin could tell by the look on Morgana’s face that this was not going to go over well, but thankfully, this argument was interrupted. Unfortunately, it was by Arthur, who knew now Merlin’s secret. 

“Who is more trustworthy,” Arthur said, “than one who will risk their name and their cause to save another’s life?”

Silence fell over the room. 

“Merlin did this foolish thing to save my life,” Arthur continued after visibly relishing and hating this silence in equal measure. “If he must leave for it, then I will have to leave, as well.”

“You can’t leave!” Merlin exclaimed before he could think better of it. Seeing that there was no return, he kept going. “Arthur, you can’t leave. This — you belong here.”

Arthur said nothing to Merlin, and indeed, he did not even look at him. His gaze was steady upon his father. Uther could feel that gaze, Merlin knew, and he seemed to crumble under it and refused to meet it. 

“He will not have to,” Uther sighed. “You and your people will stay, if here is where you desire to be.”

Merlin sighed in relief. Whether it was Arthur’s confession or his painfully honest threat, Uther’s mind had changed. It was beyond surprising: it was unthinkable. 

“Further,” Uther said, “You yourself, Merlin, should be rewarded for your courage.”

Merlin recalled what had happened the first time he’d saved Arthur’s life and became rather apprehensive. 

“Your people call you captain, do they not? Well, how goes this: you shall be Captain Merlin, and here, that title means something.”


	8. Lies and Slander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin deals with leadership, the gun is hung on the wall, and Merlin and Arthur actually have an actual conversation.

The year was 2020, and Merlin had been alive for even longer than those 2,020 years, but he still didn’t handle responsibility well. Perhaps it had something to do with being charged to protect the destined king of Albion only to have him die in his arms. 

It was predictable that he was not coping very well with his newfound captainship. As Uther had said so arrogantly, that position meant something at the camp. Merlin had to take part in meetings of strategy and was at least in theory expected to partake in them. Morgana, a captain herself, assured him that no one expected him to do much just yet, but Merlin suspected that was just her being kind. 

Kind. 

“The research team needs more blood,” Gwen said. And if that wasn’t a sentence Merlin hadn’t been waiting his whole life to hear, what was?

The people gathered were Uther, Morgana, Gwaine/Gabriel, Merlin (unfortunately), and Guinevere. All except Uther and Gwen were captains. Uther was general and Gwen’s position didn’t seem to officially have a name, but she represented the research team in meetings such as these. Merlin found himself surprised only at Gwaine’s inclusion. But Gwaine was hardly the same. None of them were. 

The place was Uther’s office. It seemed they had no round table. 

“Do you know how to shoot a gun?” Mordred asked, and that was when Arthur should have known what Mordred was up to. 

However, he did not know what Mordred was up to, so he just answered honestly in the affirmative.   
Mordred gave up the subtle arts. “Can you teach me?”

Arthur had went for a walk to calm down after an altercation with Gabriel and had bumped into Mordred. The two had decided to walk together, silent until Mordred had come upon this vein of questioning. 

“How old are you?” Arthur asked suspiciously. 

“I’m 15.”

“Lies and slander,” Arthur replied easily. 

Mordred sighed. “Fine, I’m 14.”

Arthur gave him a look. 

“Okay, okay! I’m 13. Actually, this time.”

Arthur sighed. “If you’re young enough to have to lie about your age…”

“Okay, look at it this way,” Mordred said. “If I’m old enough to die, then I’m old enough to learn how to defend myself, right?”

Arthur did not actually consider this for as long as he probably should have. He was not really old enough himself to tell Mordred that he was not old enough to do something, even if Mordred was only 13. 

Arthur brought Mordred to where they kept firearms and held out an unloaded pistol. 

“If I’m going to teach you,” Arthur warned, “I’m going to give you a cringe-y nickname.”

Mordred gave a disgustingly smug look. “I’d like to see you try.”

“You’d think Mordred wouldn’t give me much to work with, but that just means the nickname will be all the cringe-ier.”

Mordred took the gun. 

“Watch out, Morrie. Putting that in your belt can result in…” Arthur gave him a wise nod. “Dismemberings.”

Mordred looked at both the gun and Arthur with horror. “Morrie?” he echoed. 

“Having second thoughts?”

“Never.”

Morgana and Merlin walked in, then. Gabriel was right behind them. Merlin had the oddest look on his face, like he thought Arthur was going to shoot Mordred or something. 

“Arthur,” Merlin said tightly. “Can I talk to you?”

Figuring he was probably going to get an earful for giving a 13-year-old a gun, Arthur shrugged and said, “Sure.” Then he turned to Mordred and added, “Don’t worry, it’s not loaded.”

Mordred gave him a half-fond glare. Or at least, Arthur liked to think it was half-fond. It was probably just annoyed. 

Gabriel made some comment about having come to this room to show Merlin something only to have him and Arthur indulge in a secret conversation. Knowing he was just jealous, Arthur took a great joy in shutting the door in his face. 

“Arthur,” Merlin said, “I wanted to apologize for the name situation.”

When they had known each other, before all of this happened, Merlin had told Arthur his name was Mark. Arthur found out this was not the case, and the two hadn’t really been in touch after that until that day with the broken glass and the trial. 

“If my name was Merlin, I’d probably lie about it, too,” Arthur said thoughtfully. “I mean, I know some people hate their names. Gabriel’s just his middle name. His first name’s much worse than Merlin. And don’t ask, I won’t tell. Gabriel’s annoying but telling you’d just be a jerk move. Point is, I’m not mad at you because you lied about your name.”

“Then…” Merlin looked at Arthur with deep suspicion. “Why are you mad at me?”

“Merlin, you _didn’t_ lie about your name. Mordred knew it; that’s how I found out. All the people in your life knew it and know it. You go by Merlin. You didn’t lie about your name. You just lied about your name to me. And I don’t know why, but I knew that you had felt guilty about it and all sorts of things regarding that Arthur you used to know.” Arthur sighed. “Why am I mad about you? I’m not.”

“You’re not…?”

Arthur gave Merlin the same kind of smile Merlin had given him before. “It’s okay, Merlin. Some people are just better off apart.” He gave Merlin an awkward clap on the shoulder and walked away. Because right then, he didn’t want to deal with Mordred or Merlin or Gwaine or Morgana. He didn’t want to deal with the world. 


	9. Take Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous Ch. 9, called Lazy chapter, has been deleted. This is what would have been Ch. 10. That's also why the chapter count has been reduced by 1.

Merlin had had a meeting with the other leaders in Uther’s office and had decided to linger behind when the rest had left. The year may have been 2020, and Merlin may have been older than that year, but he still never had any idea how to tell when he was doing the right thing. Part of him thought that Arthur was better off without him. Part of him wanted to always be there to protect him. Another part, a very, very selfish part, wanted to be in Arthur’s life whether it was good for either of them or not. 

_Some people are just better off apart._

Merlin had been locked in a daze ever since Arthur’d said those words. Horror had frozen him and hurt had spread through him, but part of him wanted to laugh. Even when Arthur was being empathetical he was a total idiot. 

There came the sound of someone running down the hall, and then the door to the office slammed open. Shocked out of his stupor, Merlin’s head snapped up, and he saw Arthur. 

“Captain, we need you,” Arthur said, breathlessly.

“What—?”

Arthur, Merlin saw now, looked terrible. “It’s Nimue.”

“The kid?!” Merlin was up and following Arthur before the words were out of his mouth. 

He had to run to stay with him, but Arthur gave no response until they came to the research room. There, Merlin saw that the other leaders had been assembled, and that all but Guinevere looked just as confused as he. 

Arthur vanished into the group of researchers, who were working around Nimue like winds around the eye of a storm. Nimue was awake, but she seemed out of it, and rather sick. Merlin’s immediate thought upon seeing her was that she would probably be doing better if she wasn’t surrounded by people and sitting on one of the awkward stools the research lab was known for. His second thought was that with all the doctors in this room, surely someone should have pointed that out. 

Guinevere nodded to Merlin and then started to explain, which made Merlin wonder if they’d been waiting for him. “Nimue has been exposed to the disease. The Z-Death.”

“How?” Morgana demanded.

“I don’t know, but it could have been improper mission procedure…” Guinevere seemed to sense that Morgana or one of the other leaders might take offense to this accusation, and hurried on. “It doesn’t matter how. She’s infected. In 20 hours she’ll lose her mind.”

Merlin wondered why they were talking about this so close to Nimue; she could surely hear them. 

“What can we do?” Gabriel asked, drawing himself up. For the first time, he was every bit the Gwaine Merlin had once known. 

Guinevere nodded. “Keep people out of here. Especially others who aren’t immune. And…”

She asked Gwaine to get some medical thing Merlin’d never heard of. It seemed to mean something to him, though, and he hurried off. Morgana went also. Uther started organizing guard shifts and such so the researchers would be protected. 

Merlin had never felt so useless in his entire life. “If you need anything…” he said to Guinevere, who nodded and went back to the researchers. 

Merlin stood like a ghost in the corner of the room, frozen by horror of another kind, unwilling to move lest they need him and unwilling to stay lest he be in the way. He felt as though he was being torn apart. 

“Merlin,” said a voice. Merlin turned and saw Arthur. 

Arthur was standing beside him. Despite his frazzled appearance, Merlin hadn’t noticed his approach. 

“Yes?” Merlin said, though the words sounded like they were coming from somewhere else. Like all this was happening to someone other than him. Or like there was someone inside him named Mark who knew Nimue and cared much more than he.

Because for some reason, Merlin didn’t feel much of anything. 

“What’s your blood type?” Arthur asked. Upon Merlin’s answering, he said, “Can I take some of your blood?”

Merlin agreed without asking for further clarification and was led to sit at another one of those awkward stools at the research table. Arthur remained standing. 

“How does it feel to be tall?” Merlin said. 

Arthur gave him an unamused look but deadpanned, “Glorious.” 

Arthur had been surprisingly gentle the last time. This time his hands were shaking. The needle scratched against Merlin’s skin a little and hurt a little more as it drew the blood. This time, Arthur was scared. 

Once he had the blood, Arthur said, “Thank you,” and wandered back over to the other side of the room. Merlin watched him, and he did not vanish this time. 

When Morgana and Gabriel returned, about 7 hours after they had left, things were already looking up. Apparently, the researchers had isolated the disease, or something. Merlin really had no idea what they were doing. 

For the next 12 hours, the scientists restlessly conducted tests and…such. Merlin remained, hovering like a spirit. Now they had to use whatever they had. There was just no more time. 

By then, a cot had been brought in and Nimue was sleeping fitfully in it. Now Guinevere woke her and had her sit up. She explained that they had something which could hopefully make her better. Nimue allowed the needle. 

And then they waited with baited breath. 

And waited. 

Waited. 

And nothing happened. Nimue went back to sleep. She was still running a fever, though Arthur noted that it seemed to be going down. 

_Take heart_ , said that voice in Merlin’s head that had been silent for so long. _Take heart_. 


	10. Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 was completely changed. If you haven't read the updated version, this chapter will be rather confusing.

Scientists nervously monitored Nimue’s first hour of sleep, but when it became clear that she was going to be alright, they gradually wandered away. Arthur stayed, though, and Merlin stayed with him. The two sat on the opposite side of the room from Nimue. At one point, Arthur finally fell asleep, his head drooping right onto Merlin’s shoulder (which Merlin pretended not to find adorable) but Merlin couldn’t find rest. He watched over Arthur and Nimue and waited for something to give. 

Day wore into night, and night seeped back into day once more, before Merlin or Arthur left the room. Even then, it was only Arthur, because when Nimue woke, she requested some water. In all their anxious waiting, they had not considered this basic necessity. 

Merlin found himself awkwardly alone with Nimue, and he remembered he was not very good at talking to children. See: Mordred. 

“My name’s Nimue,” the girl cheerily informed him. She was still sleepy from her ordeal, but she seemed to sense that a miracle had been bestowed to her, and from her flowed joy. 

Merlin already knew Nimue’s name, of course; even if he had not know it before, in the past day or so everyone in the whole building had learned exactly who Nimue was. Still, he thought this would probably not be welcome information (he certainly wouldn’t like everyone knowing him because he was a scientific anomaly), and just nodded. 

“I’m Merlin,” he said, coming over to her side of the room. It wasn’t that he and Arthur had wanted to be distanced from Nimue, but sitting beside her bedside had just seemed creepy, and they had silently agreed not to do so. 

Nimue looked around, probably still a little out of it. “What happened?” she asked. “I remember feeling terrible, and seeing Death standing over me. Then Arthur gave me a shot, and Death said, ‘not you. Not yet.’”

“Is—Are you being metaphorical?”

“No, not really.”

Merlin was spared responding by Arthur returning with water and some food for Nimue. Arthur asked how she was feeling and rather than her tale of Death, she told him she was feeling better. Merlin decided (hoped) that she had been messing with him. 

Later, but still early in the morning, Guinevere came back to check up on Nimue and found her awake and being taught some Chemistry by the joint forces of Arthur (who apparently was quite fond of it) and Merlin (who had only learned it because he realized that the world was starting to require a certain amount of academically accessed useless information for literally everything). 

“You didn’t think to tell me she was fine?” Guinevere asked Arthur testily, though a glance to Merlin told him he was not unblamed. 

“Nimue’s just as fine as she was when you left,” Arthur pointed out. 

Merlin glanced between the two, hoping he didn’t look suspicious (or worse, jealous). It was just that they had used to look at each other with such different love. They still had love in their eyes, but it seemed softer—calmer, almost. Less longing. More…familiar. Friendship love, Merlin thought, because that was how Guinevere used to look at him. That it was not how Arthur used to look at him was probably another scientific anomaly. 

Guinevere got another scientist and the two proceeded to run some tests on Nimue while she read Arthur’s Chemistry textbook. Arthur and Merlin, to escape Guinevere’s passive-aggressive glares, left them to it. 

They were walking down the halls together, the silence a little less forced than usual, when Arthur said, “Did you ever finish reading it?” He clarified: “ _A Tale of Two Cities_.”

“Yes,” said Merlin, though he was not about to tell Arthur that he’d read it because he’d missed him when he’d left. “Though I’m still disgusted by its glorification of death.”

Arthur’s eyes were unreadable, though he was looking at Merlin now. The two had stopped walking and were now standing in the hallway, facing one another. 

“I know what you mean, now,” said Arthur. “I guess that’s why you liked _The Lord of the Rings_. Yes, people died, but it was for a cause. People died, but it was because life is precious.” He laughed, because Gollum. 

Merlin laughed too, and he liked the way it felt, to laugh with someone again. “Like Faramir and Boromir,” Merlin agreed. “Boromir died, but that didn’t make everything he did suddenly alright. He was a good man, but that was because he lived a good life, not because he died a good death. That he was considered a good man after his death was because he really had been a good man. And Faramir was also a good man, because you don’t have to die to be good.” Saying it felt freeing. _You don’t have to die to be good._ It had taken him an awful long time to figure that out. Nearly 2,020 years. 

Hurrying past them down the hallway, Guinevere called out to Merlin and Arthur to go to the entrance room. Trusting her judgement, the two did so. 

And saw that sketchy wizard gang who stole people’s blood. Because of course. 

_For when Albion’s need is greatest_ …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Lord of the Rings was the book Merlin recommended for Arthur, by the way.


	11. Wrath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, a sort of genocide is discussed/threatened/planned. See the end notes for details.   
> Also, a hostage situation is introduced.

People had never stopped surprising Merlin. Sometimes it was in a decidedly not good way. This was one of those times. 

“We know you have developed a cure,” said the leader, who looked a strange amount like Agravaine and who had introduced himself as Adam. He did not seem inclined to share how exactly he had come across this information, but Merlin looked at the reincarnations of so many sorcerers who had once opposed Camelot and took a wild guess. 

Uther didn’t ask how they knew. “I can only assume you did not come here to gloat about your ways of discovering things,” he mused. 

Agravaine nodded. “We have come to tell you that though you may think you are doing good, this is in fact a huge injustice upon the world. This plague was sent to give a world made clean to magic-users. Long have we been hunted, but now this plague hunts you.”

Merlin had frozen. 

“We know you will use this cure no matter what. We ask that you would create another strain of this virus that can evade the cure.”

Uther scoffed. “And why should we help you with fantasy genocide?”

Merlin wondered at how this Uther did not even believe magic was real. 

Agravaine smiled. “Well, no one will orchestrate their own fall knowingly.”

It took seconds. If it had taken more, Merlin would have been able to stop it. But it took seconds — _less_ than seconds — and Merlin didn’t even realize it was happening, so focused on Agravaine was he, until it was too late. 

A sorcerer had taken one of their people hostage. Quicker than anyone non-magical she was, but armed with a gun, which she pressed up against the hostage’s head. 

It was a boy, probably around Arthur’s age, who was lanky and tall and bewildered-looking, like he hadn’t yet realized what was happening to him. He was also the reincarnation of Percivial. 

They called him Percy. 

After that, it was all a blur. Merlin could hardly hear Agravaine saying that they would be taking Percy with them. He gave them a paper — dropped it to the ground — with a meeting place written upon it.

Merlin didn’t hear any of it. All he heard was Gabriel’s cursing, his frantic fighting against those who were holding him back from getting Percy back and killing anyone who stood in his way. Merlin hadn’t seen that look in his eyes in a while. Ever. No longer was he calm, easy-going Gwaine. He was Gabriel, and there was a fire in him. A wrath. 

When Percy had been taken out, Gabriel turned to Arthur. “We need to get him back,” he said. “Arthur, we—”

“That’s enough,” said Uther. “We will do what we can to get Percy back, but we will not give them what they want.”

It was rational, of course. It was only right. It was only real. But there was that fury in Gabriel’s eyes, and though he said nothing, it burned bright enough to be heard. Arthur was looking at him with newfound realization. 

Morgana had gone to that piece of paper and picked it up. Now she held it, saying, “Let’s start here.”

Merlin had never loved her so dearly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On genocide: a villain declares (falsely) that a disease was sent to wipe out non-magical people, and attempts to get around the cure that has been discovered. If this is going to bother you, please do not read it.


	12. Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur finally talk about Merlin's magic, and things are in motion that cannot be stopped.

It was Morgana who had led the pursuit of Percival, as Gabriel had not been considered clear-headed enough for such a responsibility. She orchestrated a system so the place of meeting written on that scrap of paper was constantly being watched. As of yet, no luck: no one had come. This made people nervous, thinking that they had no intention of returning Percy even if such a strain could or would be developed. That they had no intention of even giving them the option of negotiation. 

Merlin suspected something else: that they were using magic to monitor the location. That they knew of these watches and were willing to work around them. That any resistance was a minor inconvenience. That they had no doubt they would cooperate. 

Merlin helped Morgana, but there was little for him to do when it was not his turn for a watch. More often than not he was with Arthur. 

When Merlin wanted to find Arthur, he was usually in the lab. This was a little odd, because the other scientists had left for other matters after the cure was discovered, but Merlin supposed everyone dealt with things differently. 

“I’m trying to see if a better cure can be made,” Arthur explained. “The cure, as it is now, kills people as often as it cures them. It’s possible that something about the illness is keeping their body alive in extreme circumstances, and that the removal of it causes death in that it exposes the body to those other factors. It could also be that it’s very strenuous on the body. Either way, a more gradual, slower cure could be beneficial.”

The cure, in fact, killed many more people than it cured. Anyone who _was_ cured was taken back to the disease center and recovered from their trauma. Or didn’t, in some cases. 

Mercifully, their memories of what had happened to them and what they did were blurry at worst and downright nonexistent at best. Still, it wasn’t something one just brushed off. 

But a cure, however bad the side effects, was certainly better than no cure at all. 

Gabriel seemed unaffected by the new hope. He was totally focused on getting Percy back. The only time he was not on one of the watches was when he was getting some sleep (far too rarely) or when Merlin came in to check on Arthur and found the two conversing. Gabriel always hurried away. 

“He was asking for an update,” Arthur would explain. He said it easily as anything, but Merlin hadn’t spent years with Arthur in another life only to not be able to tell when he was hiding something in this one. 

“An update on the cure?” Merlin asked on one occasion, not evening trying to be flippant about it. “Doesn’t quite seem his area.”

Arthur glared. “Come on, Captain,” he said, “Everyone’s got secrets. Even you.”

It was the first time either of them had addressed that thing which they both knew Arthur knew. 

“You saw me,” Merlin declared. “You saw me and we need to talk about it. You know—”

The words would not come out. 

“What do I know?” challenged Arthur. “Can’t you even say it?”

Merlin glared. “You know I have magic.”

“Yup.”

“Don’t ‘yup’ me! You know!”

“What do you want me to say?” Arthur took on a mocking tone. “‘Oh, Merlin, that’s so cool you have magic.’ Or, ‘Oh, Merlin, but magic isn’t real!’”

“The second one would make some sense. How are you not freaking out?” Merlin asked, though in reality what he had been expecting was…

Disgust. Hatred. Shock. 

He could handle it, Merlin thought. He could handle all those things on Arthur’s face, and he had before. He just couldn’t stand that Arthur _wasn’t_ freaking out. He had absolutely no idea what to say in the face of Arthur’s utter lack of care. 

“The world’s ended,” Arthur pointed out. “You having magic isn’t the craziest thing in 2020.”

“You don’t care.” Merlin realized. “You just don’t care.”

Merlin must have imagined the pained look on Arthur’s face before he turned away, because his words were totally flat. “I told you,” Arthur said. “Some people are just better off apart.”


	13. Choose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A return of Arthur's POV, but it's still not clear what's going through his head.

After several days of no progress in the hostage situation, Uther made declared that something had to change. Morgana may have led the work to get Percy back until then, but it was Uther who had said, “We need to bluff.”

Or so Guinevere had told him — Arthur hadn’t been at the leader meeting. He was brought up from the lab at Uther’s request and was now standing among them. Guinevere had brought him in here but not told him why beyond those four words. 

Gabriel refused to meet his eyes. Arthur refused to meet Merlin’s. 

_You just don’t care._

Arthur knew it was for the best, but he couldn’t help but wish he could tell Merlin the truth. 

“Arthur,” Uther said. “You are the only person I can ask this of.”

Arthur nodded. “If it’s to help Percy, I’ll do it. Whatever it is.” 

Gabriel looked suddenly at him, and Arthur recalled when, a few days ago, he had said those very same words to Gabriel. 

Arthur had had to choose between Percy and the world. It shouldn’t have been as hard as it was. 

“Very good,” said Uther. “Then you will have no problem with pretending to have found a cure?”

Arthur was surprised, but more at the irony than anything else. “I would not,” he said, “have any problem with that.”

“You don’t have to do it, Arthur,” said Morgana quietly. “You have a choice.”

Arthur pretended not to have heard her. 

Plans were made. Arthur would go to the location, trailed by different people and watched from above. Then they would wait, and see if negotiation was on the table. 

Arthur couldn’t believe things were working out like this. Gabriel probably had had something to do with it. 

Either way, Arthur found himself standing at the corner joining two once-busy streets, waiting for sketchy magic criminals to come so he could give them a bogus formula for a virus which could withstand a cure so that he could negotiate with them to get back Gabriel’s boyfriend. Yeah. How was this his life, again?

“Evening,” said Agravaine from behind Arthur. 

Arthur turned. “It’s morning.”

Agravaine looked up. “I suppose it is,” he agreed. “I suppose it is.”

“We have the formula.”

“Do you, now?” Agravaine grinned. “Very good. Who are you, then?”

“Arthur Pendragon.”

This was the first thing that genuinely seemed to throw Agravaine off. “Uther’s son?” he realized. “I wouldn’t have thought he’d send you here.”

“Then perhaps you don’t know Uther,” Arthur suggested. “He’s not one to be overburdened with sentiment.”

“Very good,” Agravaine said again, though this time he did not seem to mean it. “Give me the formula.”

Arthur fought the strange urge to laugh. Instead, he sucked it up and gave Agravaine a fake formula, watching as he wrote it down. 

“Interesting,” Agravaine said. “But you’ll forgive me my doubt. There’s no way this would work.”

Ill at ease, Arthur said, “I assure you that it does.”

“Sorry,” Agravaine muttered as someone grabbed Arthur from behind, faster than anything, “But I just can’t believe you.”


	14. Trust

The year was 2020, and the world had forgotten about magic. That really inconvenienced things, to say the least. Because when that cult/gang/wizard club turned up, Merlin really wished he could use his magic to take Agravaine and _make him_ return Percy. That he managed not to was a testament to his will. And him being worried about Arthur, who should be meeting with them right about now, shouldn’t he?

“Your desperate plan has failed,” said Agravaine, never one to waste time in his monologues. “Your lie has fallen to ruin. We know Arthur’s cure was false, and we have taken him, too.”

The floor seemed to fall away from Merlin, and breath left his lungs. He desperately tried to keep a hold on his magic, because it wouldn’t be under his control right now. 

_Arthur will rise again._

Surely Arthur had not done all he was destined to do yet! Surely the world knew he could do more, could have done more, if he just had more time! Surely destiny would have pity, just this once, where it never had before. Surely. Surely…

That was a moment of hesitation, of premature grief, that Merlin would be cursing for days. Weeks. Because just then, quicker than light itself, Agravaine’s people had taken Mordred and left. 

The gloom of their situation made the room they were being kept in seem obnoxiously bright. In truth, it was lit only through the high, barred window and a light coming from around the corner outside the cell. Arthur probably could have seen that source, but he didn’t have the heart to go to the other side of the cell to search. Percy and he were pretended to be asleep, after all, and walking around would destroy the pretense. 

Well, he assumed they were pretending to sleep. Perhaps lying on the ground with his eyes open was just a habit of Percy’s. Arthur was, regardless. The people from that sketchy wizard cult had put him to work trying to find a strain which could avoid the cure, and any time he showed sign of being awake, they dragged him down to this unsanitary laboratory they had that made him feel an awful lot like a mad scientist. 

Which he technically was. Oh. 

Even if Arthur was inclined to find the strain for purely academic reasons, he would be greatly struggling to do so. It was hard to find something you’d already found, and Arthur had found the strain already. Had done so, at Gabriel’s request, before he even met with Agravaine. 

The two started up when the cell door noisily opened and closed. Mordred was roughly shoved in by a guard who quickly hurried away after re-locking the door. 

“They got you, too,” Arthur realized. “But why?”

“I don’t know,” said Mordred. Then he turned to Percy, and said, “Hello! I’m Mordred.”

Arthur felt in himself the warring urges to laugh and to cry. 

Percy introduced himself, looking confused, and then asked, “How is Gabriel?”

“I don’t know,” Mordred answered, ever honest. Except when asked about his age. Never mind that honestly bit, actually. 

“What about Morgana?” Arthur asked. 

“I don’t know.” Mordred looked puzzled. “Anyway, you can ask them yourselves soon enough.”

“Mordred,” Percy said, gently, “I wish we could get out of here, too. I really do. I wish I was strong enough—“

“It’s not about strength,” Arthur murmured. 

“Listen, both of you!” Mordred said angrily. “We’re getting out of here.” He took a glance over his shoulder, and then revealed that he had the gun Arthur’d been training him with. 

Percy looked at Mordred warily. “Is that loaded? Didn’t they search you?”

“Of course it’s loaded. And no, I guess they figured I was too young.” Mordred grinned. 

“Unfortunately,” Arthur said, “we still might not be able to get out with a gun. They’re asking for the strain. They really want it, too, so they probably have us under a bunch of security.”

“The strain?” Mordred asked. “Do you have it?”

Arthur exchanged a look with Percy. He, too, took a look at the barred cell wall before saying, “Yes,” pulling out a piece of paper from his pocket. 

Mordred did not hesitate before saying, “Burn it.”

“What?”

“Burn it,” he repeated. “Memorize it and burn it so they can’t just kill you. That’s how we’re getting out of here.” He put the gun away, but would not allow Percy to take it from him. 

The world exploded into noise. Distantly, Merlin heard Uther calling for peace, and Vivian shouting something about magic. 

_No_ , he thought, but it was too late. Silence had fallen on Vivian’s cries; she had been left speaking as all others quieted at Uther’s command. 

She didn’t give him a chance to step in. “Magic is real. I’m sorry I can’t ease you all into this, but there it is. Magic is real; deal with it.” When silence met her words, she continued: “We…also have magic. So keep that in mind when we plan our rescue mission.”

“We?” asked Gabriel, who was oddly unfazed. “Who is we?”

Vivian cast nervous looks around at them all, and in her anxiety, her hand instinctively came up to her stomach. 

Something in Merlin clenched painfully, and he said, “Many of us.”

Gabriel whirled around. “You, too? Wait—is—that day at the store—what were you doing?”

“Wait, no it wasn’t like that—“

“Wasn’t like what? Was it not—does Arthur have magic?”

The two had been on different pages from the beginning, but now they were in totally different books. 

“No! Gwaine, it’s not like that!”

Dead silence fell. A chill came over the room greater than when Vivian had confessed their magic. All within were faced with the unshakable feeling that something dreadfully wrong had been uttered. 

Gabriel’s face had gone still and cold. His voice was quiet. “What did you call me?”

“I didn’t…” Merlin trailed off. 

“How did you know that name?” Gabriel continued. “Did someone tell you? Did you use magic?”

Merlin had stumbled upon something of unexpected consequence, and he could find nothing to say. Something dawned, however, in Gabriel’s eyes, and his coldness dissolved. 

“Arthur told you,” he realized. “So you can be trusted.”

This caused some skepticism, but Gwaine shook his head. “None of you,” he said, “will ever call me the name you think you heard here today. If you do, you will find yourself on the wrong side of a wrath you never wanted to glimpse. But Arthur and I had a pact. If he told Merlin, then…Merlin can be trusted. And therefore, so can his magic.”

Merlin felt a bit like a scam, because Arthur had not actually told him anything, and a bit like a jerk, because he had just called Gabriel by his secret and hated name in a crowded room, but he decided to take his blessing where they came. He said nothing; they all said nothing. 

“We know the place, now,” Morgana said, her voice gruff in the uneasy silence. She held up another of those pieces of paper. Odd; Merlin hadn’t seen them drop one. “We just need a plan.”


	15. Misplaced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter before the epilogue. Hope you enjoy!

The year was 2012, and Arthur and Gwaine had known each other all their lives. They weren’t exactly friends, but with their parents working together and always moving around together, they often got stuck together with no one else to turn to. Especially after Morgana left — which she’d done as soon as she could. They often found themselves alone in a motel room, not quite remembering where their parents told them they were going. This was one such time. Gwaine was fiddling around on a computer, and Arthur was doing science homework, when Gwaine suddenly spoke up. 

“I’m going to run away,” he announced, not looking at Arthur. 

Arthur got the feeling it was more for the gratification of saying it than because he wanted Arthur to hear it. As such, he did not ask why. In any case, they both knew _why_. 

Instead, Arthur said, “When?”

Gwaine shrugged. “I dunno. Soon. Don’t you want to know why?”

“I figured you wouldn’t want to tell me.”

“Well, I do,” Gwaine said. “It’s because my parents—they’re spying for ConZ. You know, that company that’s going to turn people into zombies. So I’m turning traitor on them.” He paused. “Your parents aren’t part of it, by the way.”

Funny enough, Arthur wouldn’t have asked. “It’s a noble thing to do,” he mused. “To turn your back on people who love you because you think it’s right.”

Gwaine shrugged. “I dunno,” he repeated. “You’re not trying to talk me out of it?”

“No. I would run off, too, but I think Morgana would be disappointed in me. She actually said I could come live with her when she graduates. Maybe you could, too.”

Gwaine blinked. “That’d be anticlimatic, but your sister is pretty great. When does she graduate?”

“She’s supposed to graduate in 3 years, so she’ll probably do it in 2. You know how she is.”

“Well, ask her.” Gwaine stretched. “I think I could hold out for 2 years. But in the meantime, I’m changing my name.”

“What to?” Arthur asked, again not asking why. This time, he was sure they both knew: Gwaine often complained about his name, often saying things like _Who would name their child Gwaine, anyway?_

“Thinking Gabriel. It’s got the same first letter; I think I’d miss writing capital G’s.”

Arthur nodded. “Should I call you that from now on, then?”

“Yeah. And don’t tell anyone my real name, alright? It’ll be some big secret.” 

“Morgana’ll know.”

“That’s true.” Gwaine frowned. “But don’t tell anyone else.” 

“Anyone? What if someone’s holding a gun to my head, or something?” Arthur teased. 

“How about this: if it’s life or death, tell ‘em.” Gwaine considered further. “And this: if you ever fall in love with someone, and I mean for real, and you’d trust them with your life and all, you can tell them if they ask.”

“I don’t see why they would,” Arthur pointed out. “Or why you’d make that oddly specific exception.”

“I’ve heard there are supposed to be no secrets between couples,” Gwaine muttered, flushing. “And it could be like a code. If you tell someone, I’ll know they’re the one for you.”

“Aw, I knew you were a romantic.”

“Shut up.”

The year was 2020. The world had literally ended. A kid with a gun shouldn’t be the most shocking thing people had ever seen. But apparently, it was, because as Mordred threatened the guards at gun-point for an audience with Agravaine, they were too busy being shocked to remember that they also had guns. They actually did as Mordred said. They also looked almost scared, which Arthur thought was ridiculous. This was Mordred. 

Agravaine came, as requested, and he, too, looked strangely intimidated by Mordred. 

Before Agravaine had a chance to say anything, Mordred spoke. “Let us go,” he commanded. “Or I’ll kill Arthur. Any chance of a strain would die with him. He memorized the cure and burned all his notes.”

Agravaine’s fear quickly faded, to be replaced with something almost like humor. “If you leave, then we won’t get the cure, either.”

Mordred seemed not to have considered this. “You still might,” he muttered, but clearly he recognized that there was a great flaw in his plan. 

“In any case, you’re bluffing,” Agravaine accused. “You wouldn’t shoot him. You’re young, and do not yet wish to know the horror of living with another’s blood on your hands.”

Mordred was about to protest, but Arthur cut in. “Let them go, and I will tell you the cure. Keep me here, and no power on earth could ever get the sprain out of me.”

“Interesting,” Agravaine muttered. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“I swear it. By any power that might exist above or below humans, I swear I will tell you, if you let them go.”

There was a pause. 

“Good, then,” Agravaine said at length. “I’m glad to see that you can be agreeable. Let them go, but keep Arthur here,” he added to the guards. 

“No,” Mordred said. “No—Let us all go or I _will_ kill him!” He was pointing his gun like he meant it, too, but Agravaine simply did not believe him. 

The guards didn’t either, and kept on advancing. Just before they were in arm’s reach, Mordred pulled the trigger. 

Agravaine’s evil hideout or whatever it was called was surprisingly big. After Morgana, Merlin, Gabriel, and a group they were leading had broken in, they searched for nearly 15 minutes without any clue as to where Percy, Mordred, and Arthur might be. 

And the clue they did get was hardly a comfort. A loud noise, jarring and short, and unmistakable in its implications. A gunshot. 

Morgana was the first to start running, the rest right behind her. The scene they entered did not set them at ease. 

As ever, Merlin saw Arthur first. He was on the ground, looking almost like he was sleeping until Merlin saw the blood. It covered Percy’s hands where he pressed them against Arthur’s stomach. Percy was on the ground beside Arthur, looking up when he heard the door slam open. He looked relieved to see them, but still dreadfully worried. 

Mordred was standing by the two on the floor, holding a gun and looking terrible. Merlin squashed down the immediate idea coming into his head, that Mordred had shot Arthur. Of course he hadn’t. There was just…no way, right?

As Morgana led them in, as they fought the people who had imprisoned their friends, Mordred fell to his knees. Percy conversed with him, and the two switched: Mordred was holding his hands to Arthur’s wound, and Percy was holding the gun and protecting them from harm. 


	16. Epilogue

The year was 2020. Merlin had known Arthur only since the beginning of that year, and it wasn’t even autumn yet. He wasn’t about to let him die now. 

When Agravaine and his forces had been dealt with, Merlin and Mordred had brought Arthur back to the disease center, flanked by the others. They’d brought him to the doctors, and once it became clear that he was going to live, Merlin and Morgana and Gabriel came to Percy and Mordred and asked them what had happened. 

Guilt had exploded out of Mordred, and it poured out of him now. Even when unexpected complications occurred, and Arthur was out for much longer than expected, Mordred had barely left his side. If Arthur died, Merlin saw, Mordred wouldn’t be able to live with himself. 

Merlin felt much the same. Guilt smoldered in him, day and night, but he pushed it aside. If he thought about guilt right now, he knew he’d go to pieces, and he couldn’t do that right now. 

Merlin recalled a time he’d casually mentioned that he might kill himself. That was before all of this. Arthur, it seemed, had sensed that it was not as much of a joke as Merlin wanted to make it seem. He’d said, “Mark, if you kill yourself, I will read _A Tale of Two Cities_ over your grave.” He would do it, too. 

Instinct told Merlin to stay with Arthur, but his wish to avoid Mordred meant that he didn’t. He’d, rather, check in at intervals and busy himself however he could in the meantime. As such, Merlin was not with Arthur when he woke up. 

The room was dark, but Arthur recognized he was in the laboratory back at the disease center. He was also laying down—on the cot they’d brought in for Nimue and never took out. 

Feeling very strange, Arthur struggled to sit up. He wasn’t in pain, but he recognized a numb feeling within him and knew he should be. As though by instinct, he placed a hand upon his stomach and felt that there were bandages there. Arthur shoved down the immediate feeling of repulsion that came over him and hastily put his hand back on the bed. He needed it to support himself, anyway, because he felt rather weak. A strange knowledge was coming over him, and he was standing on its brink. 

Looking around, Arthur saw a figure cast in shadow at the table. Again shoving down his immediate feeling — this time, of fear — Arthur looked closer and saw that the figure was that of a child, and that the child was asleep with their head on the table. A shock of black hair was cradled in their arms. 

“Morrie?” Arthur asked. The nickname made him want to laugh, after all that had happened, but he thought that would probably cause pain from whatever happened to his stomach. 

The child’s head came up sleepily, and Arthur saw that his guess was correct. 

“Arthur!” Mordred said in relief. “I’m sorry, Arthur. Are you alright?”

“I’m alright,” Arthur assured him. Memories were coming back to him, startling and overwhelming, like a sudden change in light. “Why’d you shoot me?”

Mordred’s guilt was briefly overshadowed by anger, or betrayal. Now that it was clear he had not killed Arthur, everything else came out of him at once. “You said you were going to tell them! You _swore_ it!”

Arthur said, “I wouldn’t have.”

“You swore!”

“I understand why you thought I would have,” Arthur said. “But this is humanity. Everyone. All people.” Arthur blamed his ineloquence on still being out of it. “God himself couldn’t make me tell them.”

Merlin stuck his head in, then back out, then back in. 

“Arthur?” he said, disbelief and relief warring in his tone. “Arthur! Are you okay? What do you remember?”

Arthur said, “I remember everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to anyone who managed to get through this! Hope you liked it.


	17. A/N

Oh, no, the dreaded author's note. Didn't think I'd ever do one of these, but here we are. 

Since the ending was rather unsatisfying, I've decided to do a sequel. 

It's short, and honestly just what I probably should have done for the ending to begin with, but if you're looking for closure, it's as good as this story is going to get. 

Should be up shortly. 

(I'm only putting this here to let you know. It won't be another chapter -- it'll be another fic.)


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